The boy nods quietly when the filly rephrases her answer. He doesn’t know her well enough to explore how or why. He doesn’t want to, not yet – it’s still too raw and jarring to think that mother isn’t coming back this time. That she’s gone for good - and her love, and her promises meant nothing now that she had forsaken him. He isn’t aware of the bitterness that threatens to spill into his heart. His wounds are too fresh and deep to have festered. There is only the ebbing pain, and the confusion that twists in strange and odd ways. Things he can’t simply explain, or put to words. It’s raw and it makes him vulnerable, weak, so the boy doesn’t press the issue. He’s happy to ignore their common plight. But a trailing mumble manages to pass his conscious grasp over his lips in a half-whisper.

“… Is that normal?” The boy visibly tenses, saying, “I wanted her to stay.”

Somehow he manages to stop himself from crumpling up on the spot. Perhaps it’s the momentary gesture of hope that lingers in his soul. Where he still clings on the belief of the Sun God, ushered by the questions that burn and surround the God’s purpose. That mother might appear some day, and that he’d forgive her if she’d just love him like he desired.

But she wasn’t there, and that part he held for her ached with her missing spirit. If she could not fill the hole, perhaps the Sun God could?

The colt shakes his head dismissively, and clenches his jaws. Snorting. “Never mind…”

As for the wounds that litter the filly’s bodice, Saoirse regards her from his wandering gaze. And despite his offerings, she flattens her ears and appears to stiffen with his proposals. Opposite reactions, that are starting encourage hesitancy in the colt’s actions. He would have thought this news would cheer the other a little, but every reaction is torn to the other side of the spectrum – and the filly has given him no clear insight into her person.

“I said I knew things,” he grumbles at her initial rejection. As if he wasn’t good enough. “Not that I could. But one day, maybe.” Perhaps as a healer, or for recreation – he wasn’t quite sure yet, but the prospect of being helpful still sounds nice. And maybe then, she’d smile or crack a grin. He understands he can’t imagine what the wounds must feel like. The only real pain he has experienced is from the demon in the dead lands. Shattered bones in fragile wings, sprained ligaments and sore all over; at least he had had old and pointy beside him. Holding him close. The boy recalled melting into that warmth, as if he'd long succumb to death without it - that he could finally feel safe again. But these wounds look like they’d been there for a while, as the boy regards the ones that seem mostly healed across her body. Maybe that’s why she hasn’t smiled just yet, or has set blame on the Sun God.

Saoirse grins nonetheless as she confirms her approval. Perhaps prematurely, but it feels like the right step forward. His tail begins to undulate with a spark of vigor.

“Okay! But since you don’t trust me… yet. We might as well find one of the healers to get an opinion!” He starts to make his way towards the arena’s entrance. “Personally I was thinking you could use Aloe Vera for the wounds – even the ones you have that look kinda patched up. I remember one of the healers said it’s good for burns, so maybe it’ll help with your wounds?” He pauses, recalling the unicorn mare that had helped him in the Spectral Marsh.

“But there’s also these roots that take the edge off of the hurt. I… I don’t know if they grow here, or what they really look like… Maybe one of the healers will know. And I can help find it afterwards?”

The boy pauses, to ensure the black and white splashed filly is following him. His name hovers upon his lips, and he wonders if it’s appropriate to exchange names yet. Normally he would’ve done so immediately, but – stuff happened.

And for some reason he had become hesitant. Uncertain if she cared – because a little voice inside of his head wished she did. Just a little. It wasn’t as if Saoirse had many friends after all.